


Your Head Will Collapse

by cornflakes_canvas



Series: It's In Your Head [3]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: And you'll ask yourself - where is my mind?





	1. Never Far Away

**Author's Note:**

> Just couldn't stay away.  
> I think you can read this without being familiar with the previous parts of the story, but it probably makes a lot more sense as a whole.  
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated! I hope you like this little story.  
> ♥♥

_About a year and a half ago_

Seven AM, several dozen boxes, six storeys and no lift – having neither slept nor eaten the previous night, Dan was in no way prepared for this kind of early-morning exercise. Suffice to say, after less than an hour his lungs started feeling like the old inflatable mattress his mum had found in the attic last summer and that had kept on losing air slowly and for no visible reason.

Standing silently in the white-walled flat with the unattractive linoleum floor, Dan exhaled noisily, struggling to picture the drab space filled with piles of books and framed film posters, his beloved record player and Kyle's precious garage vinyls, and the garbled collection of shelves, armchairs and kitchen stools that they had selected through random pointing over an afternoon of bargain hunting at IKEA during which the singer had been stricken by a terrible fever and Kyle on an allegedly _inexplicable_ caffeine high (though Dan quickly discovered the heap of empty iced coffee cans on the floor behind the driver's seat); but he couldn't for the life of him imagine it looking any different than it did now – sad and cold and lifeless. Like it wasn't _theirs_.

How strange, he thought, that a slur of drunken words mumbled into his phone at four in the morning sounded like a bloody symphony in his head but he couldn't envision a couple of Swedish shelves on the walls of an empty room.

While no one was watching, Dan flopped himself down on the rather battered second-hand sofa – the first and, thus far, only piece of furniture they had bothered to haul up the claustrophobic staircase with the much appreciated (and needed) help of the usual suspects –, huffed a heartfelt sigh and dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw, feeling his chest heave with heavy breaths. _Dammit_ , what kind of house didn't have a bloody lift these days?

Staring up at the unadorned light bulb dangling from the ceiling, Dan frowned to himself. Had somebody revealed to him a few years ago that he and Kyle would someday be moving in together, he would have strongly assumed the arrangement to be of a strictly amicable nature. _Never_ would he have dared to dream of them living together as _lovers_ – on the contrary, he still felt inclined to rub his eyes in disbelief, still thought that this life he was allowed to lead may very well vanish in a cloud of smoke if he thought about it too much. About being lucky enough to wake up next to Kyle every day from now on. No more tossing and turning in the early hours of the morning, feeling restless and lonesome as he let his fingers dance over the cold sheets, no more _“your place or mine?”_ and frantic calculations of bus routes to try to figure out whose place was easier to get to. No toothbrushes and contact lens cases accumulating in a drawer in Kyle's bathroom because Dan kept forgetting to take them back home.

As much as he wanted to bury his head in the sand, the singer knew all too well why his thoughts immediately wandered to these aspects of _convenience_ rather than musing on the labyrinthine emotions that spooked around his mind – he was _afraid_.

What if Kyle got tired of him from one day to the next and with no way to avoid him? What if they fought and quarrelled until they had to acknowledge that their _forever_ had always been a temporary deal? What if Dan's many flaws added up to something truly unbearable and Kyle came to realise that his love was not enough to outweigh his boyfriend's failings after all? _What if._

There were too many of them, too many _what ifs_ fuelling the feelings of uncertainty which gripped Dan's heart and made him doubt whether Kyle would be willing to put up with everything the singer hated about himself. The sleepless nights of turning the same song over and over in his head until he had to get up and consult his piano at some ungodly hour. The re-watch rotation of the same handful of films, weekend after weekend, because he was _that_ decisive, the lies about being _“insanely busy”_ because he didn't feel like being barged into by careless drunkards at the pub and the migraines that made him feel as if he were made of glass. And though Kyle had stood by Dan even at his very lowest and his habits, good _and_ bad, certainly weren't news to the dark-eyed man, there was no comparing a sprint through a sudden summer drizzle with occupying a spot in the constant pouring rain.

With no forewarning, the blue sofa suddenly dipped noticeably as somebody sunk into the worn cushions next to Dan, someone who wasted no time to snuggle into his side.

“Having doubts already?” Kyle asked, his voice low and laced with humour as he pressed a kiss to his lover's neck.

“Hm ... 'm just tired. Stair climbing has always been one of the more challenging parts of my day.”

Feigning shock and with bewilderment spewing from his eyes, Kyle emitted a gasp. “And here I thought you were super athletic, what with hitting the gym, like, six times a week ...”

Dan tried to play along, but he couldn't help giggling. “Believe me, I'm all muscle under this snappy knitwear.”

The younger man nodded vigorously and wrapped a hand around his boyfriend's biceps, eyes widening comically. “All that jumping around on stage like a drunk dad at a karaoke bar ...”

Laughing despite himself, Dan elbowed his lover in the side and Kyle slung his arms around him and captured his lips in a sweet kiss, and as he angled his body away slightly and Dan gazed at the younger man affectionately, he wondered how many times their eyes had met like this, starting long, _long_ before they had mustered up the courage to confess their feelings. How many times on stage, in front of thousands of strangers and sharing stolen moments of wordless support and joint disbelief; how many times during interviews, rehearsals, studio sessions and in the midst of some stodgy afterparty? How many times since the day they had _finally_ shared their first kiss?

And still, Dan would never tire of looking at him. Ever.

He could only hope that Kyle felt the same way.

As if reading his thoughts, the very same flashed Dan a reassuring smile and caressed his cheek.

“We're gonna be fine, you know?” he said calmly, prompting Dan to blink in surprise, “I know talking about your feelings isn't exactly your number one priority right now, but I do wish you would tell me when you're scared.”

“Wh- I-I'm not-”

“You forget,” Kyle interrupted with a smirk, “that I can see right through you,” he finished in a sing-song voice and poked Dan in the ribs to underline the statement. “It's not gonna crash and burn around us. And I'm not gonna get sick of you, you hear me? If you think that's even possible after I fell in _love_ with you while we were cooped up on a _bus_ together for _weeks_ -”

“Been cooped up with Woody too, you want him to move in with us?”

Kyle grinned and leaned into Dan once more. “That's okay, I believe you're the better kisser.”

The singer huffed out a laugh that Kyle disregarded in favour of attacking his lips again, one hand resting on his neck and the other running down the front of his jumper, and Dan quickly lost himself and his worries in the tender kiss until a loud harrumph from the doorway startled the men into breaking apart. Woody shot them a disapproving glance.

“If you're gonna make out, you better start paying us for moving your stuff.”

Kyle simply poked his tongue out at the long-haired man and turned around to plant another hasty kiss on Dan's lips before he stood up and began rummaging noisily through a large cardboard box that had _kitchen appliances_ written on one side in bold green letters, finally pulling out Dan's cherished coffee maker and smirking.

“If you go get another box, there'll be espresso by the time you get back,” he promised with a playful glint in his eyes and Woody sighed exasperatedly as Dan all but darted past him and down the stairs.

All he could do was keep trying to convince himself that it was _fine_ if he and Kyle never became the blissfully domestic couple that just _could not_ bear to leave each other's side.

It was fine.

/ /

_Now_

Kyle sighed inwardly as he glanced across the table at Dan who had been talking on the phone for several minutes, his posture tense and gaze vigilant as he listened intently to whatever the person on the other end was babbling down the line. He looked _miffed_ to say the least.

The younger man hated when his partner was being bothered on their day off, so when the phone had rung, he had swiftly snagged and hidden it under his jacket that lay in a heap on the leather-cushioned bench, and for a moment or two, Dan had looked like he greatly appreciated the action before his forehead had creased with doubt and he had extended his hand in a grabbing motion and with the words _“What if it's important?”_

After the emotional strain of the past weeks, of being unsure of what they were supposed to think and feel, the two men were finally spending a few badly needed days in wonderful togetherness, and after an extended and wholly savoured lie-in, they had drowsily shuffled down the street and into Dan's favourite coffee shop, seeking shelter from the biting cold. Here, fully immersed in his comfort zone and with his partner sitting within arm's reach, Dan appeared to leave behind any and all self-consciousness about his appearance – he was clad in one of Kyle's well-worn sweatshirts and his usually slicked-back hair was so dishevelled from sleep and lack of care that the keyboardist almost felt as if he were sitting across a much younger version of his boyfriend.

Resting his chin in his palm, Kyle watched as Dan nodded with clenched teeth, staring into space. He looked unusually gritty like this, his face a mask of decisive silence, hair in disarray, clothes slightly rumpled and brows drawn together tightly, and Kyle marvelled at how this man, albeit being just about the gentlest, least confrontational person he knew, clearly didn't lack the strength to defend himself and his beliefs like a lion. He was so much tougher than he would ever give himself credit for.

Whilst certainly appreciating and regularly marvelling at the fact that they probably had the most amazing job of all time, getting paid to travel around the world and play _their_ music to thousands of people who _really_ wanted to hear it, Kyle did sometimes miss the quiet, soothingly slow moments of hanging around doing nothing of importance without feeling like they had to _force_ every free minute to be especially fulfilling before they ultimately hit the road again. They were now granted one of these rare moments, at long last, and even though Dan still seemed a lot more agitated than he should do (perhaps some sort of mental aftershock the singer couldn't shake) and though the only person he should be calling was his mum, just to confirm that they were in fact still alive, Kyle was determined to enjoy every second of it.

They had long since become accustomed to the once unfamiliar four walls of their shared flat, but it had taken them a while to feel truly comfortable with their newfound _homeliness_ , with the cancelled parties in favour of early nights that ended in sleepy cuddles instead of passionate embraces, the cooking mishaps and severely misshapen birthday cakes, the afternoons spent reading cheap crime novels, sharing nothing but the same air and the blanket that covered their entangled legs. The horror of getting up on the wrong side of bed and snapping at the other for finishing the last pint of milk, the _“am I supposed to eat my Cheerios with water then?”_ and red-faced apologies as soon as the ridiculousness of the situation dawned on them. The days and nights of seeing each other at their highest and lowest, and losing any and all gracefulness when both fell ill with a nasty flu.

At first, whenever Kyle had recognised moments like these, he would subconsciously shy away as if they should by all means embarrass him, as if he needed to clarify that he _knew_ they were being infuriatingly domestic – until _what if_ evolved into _so what if_ and Kyle quickly and fully embraced their sentimental home life and accepted the fact that the very first thing they did when they got back from touring was to water the house plants.

And yet, whenever the men returned to the small flat that, despite their frequent absence, had gradually turned into a loving, welcoming space over the past year and a half, Kyle felt strangely _haunted_ as he walked through the front door, as if their home had secretly changed and grown while they had remained the same – or perhaps it was exactly the other way round and in the process of learning and thriving with each and every step they took out there in the big, bad world, they were slowly outgrowing the first place they had called their own, bit by tiny bit. And Kyle tried to remind himself that as long as he continued travelling with Dan, home would never be far away.

The singer finally ended the call with a sharp _“later”_ and all but slammed the phone on the table, and Kyle quickly reached out to caress his lover's hand where it lay clenched on the smooth wooden surface. Dan glanced up, expression still serious and defensive – his business mask that left no entry point for vulnerability – but as soon as their eyes met, his face cleared up like a cloudy sky and his stony gaze softened, from the stormy depths of the ocean to the calm surface of a blue lake.

“Sorry 'bout that.”

Kyle smiled and gestured encouragingly at the slice of cake that sat untouched in front of Dan who instantly raised both eyebrows and proceeded to push the small plate towards the younger man, the white porcelain catching on a fold in the cream-coloured tablecloth and nearly knocking over the unlit candle that stood between them.

“ _I_ don't want it,” Kyle laughed, “you know I can't stand carrot cake.”

Dan frowned slightly in confusion. “What then?”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Kyle cut a chunk off the cake with his fork and slowly guided it towards the other's mouth. “Say _aaah_ ...”

Despite accepting the offered treat, Dan shook his head. “Way too sweet,” he muttered whilst chewing and Kyle didn't ask whether he meant the cake or the gesture.

The singer leaned back in his seat, slouching visibly as he stared out the window. It was one of those strangely _bleak_ and seemingly endless days, overcast with a white, cloudless sky, the kind of day that would usually make Kyle feel on edge and restless, but today all the young man felt was gratitude. He was grateful for his life, for his relationship and his home. He was grateful for even the most fleeting moments of intimacy and for resting assured that he would fall asleep in Dan's arms tonight. And yes, Kyle thanked the heavens for Woody and his cheeky comments, the avalanche of doubts that his casual words had provoked and the consequent sense of composure and determination that Kyle had not felt before.

His eyes scanned Dan's tired features and despite the man's less than elated mood, Kyle couldn't help smiling as he once again relished his hidden feelings, the secret question that had been floating around his head for days and that he was patiently waiting to utter.

Feeling more emboldened than he had in a while, he finally stood and slunk around the table to sit next to Dan, throwing both arms around him and kissing his cheek firmly. Dan eyed him suspiciously before he swiftly scanned the wide room over his partner's shoulder as if to check for any sign of éclat, and Kyle chuckled quietly and quickly pressed their lips together. He was so proud to call Dan his best friend. His boyfriend, lover, partner – and soon his fiancé. His future husband.

Perhaps he was being overconfident in assuming that Dan was definitely going to say _yes_ but hell, he couldn't bring himself to care when he was gazing at the man he loved, the man who carried a heart filled with music and watched the world with eyes full of words. _His_ man. Kyle wanted to jump up, to shout at anyone who would listen that he was going to marry this incredible man. _He_ was. Kyle fucking Simmons had finally found _the one_.

He was going to have to figure out exactly how to set about doing things, _properly_ and in a way that would reflect how he felt about Dan – and he couldn't wait to show everyone that he _never_ intended to leave his lover's side.

Never again.


	2. Got Your Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments on the last chapter, it's exciting to see that some people remember this story! ♥♥  
> Hope this is alright. ♥

_Nearly two years ago_

“Dan.”

“What.”

Kyle chuckled. “Stop trying to fix that damn shirt. You look fantastic.”

“I'm not-”

“See? Stunning without even trying. You're living everyone's dream.”

Dan huffed. “Fuck off.”

Leaning casually against the frame of the bedroom door, Kyle smirked at Dan who was eyeing his boyfriend's reflection in the tall mirror before he resumed scanning his own figure from head to toe, his face scrunched up with scepticism. Kyle had assured him that there was truly no need to wear a shirt, but Dan was eager to make a good impression.

They were having dinner with Mr and Mrs Simmons after all.

It had not exactly been a walk in the park to persuade Kyle that his mum and dad had a right to be in the loop of how their son was shaping his life (what with being in a six-month-old relationship with his best friend) and Dan kept having to remind himself that there was no use in getting annoyed at the younger man for being so damn casual about the situation while he himself was feeling about as far from nonchalant as he could imagine – he was bloody _terrified_ ; of Kyle's parents disapproving of them dating, of _someone_ making a scene over dessert and the evening resulting in the beginning of a lifelong family feud. Dan was making an effort in a sort of preventative measure and because he hoped the couple would acknowledge that this relationship was not just some wrongheaded fling that he had staggered into and would probably stop caring about before long.

Kyle didn't understand why Dan was concerned – and Dan couldn't comprehend how his boyfriend could possibly be so _obtuse_.

The keyboardist sniggered to himself and Dan tried his best death glare in response, but his vague attempt at outrage only appeared to spur Kyle's quiet amusement and he grinned broadly as he took a big bite of the _Curly Wurly_ he was holding in his heavily beringed hand.

“You purposely going for the schoolboy look?” he asked with a glint in his eye and Dan felt himself redden as he cleared his throat and tugged on the dark grey cardigan he had buttoned up halfway.

“Shut up, I look _charming_.”

Kyle hummed. “Not gonna argue, but you should know by now that my parents find you just as charming when you're dressed like a slob. My dad still raves about that time we hung out at the pub after that awful gig, when you-”

“Yes, I know,” Dan interrupted, his voice strained, “please don't make me go through the memories of trying to outdrink your dad. _Again_.”

Laughing, the younger man pushed himself off the doorframe, threw the balled-up chocolate wrapper in the bin and sauntered towards his lover, hugging Dan from behind and locking eyes with his reflection as he kissed his cheek.

“It's not your fault that you're a big softie who can't hold his liquor.”

Dan fell quiet, flushing with the particularly shaming memory of drinking a whole lot more than he knew he should and challenging Mr Simmons to an ill-advised drinking game that nobody knew the rules of. The hangover that had plagued him the following morning had been enough to last a lifetime.

Kyle breathed a sigh and leaned heavily on his lover. “Say, how many times have you hung out with my parents, hm?” Dan shrugged, staring at his socked feet. “How many times have you stayed over for dinner? Or had drinks with them? You came to my mum's birthday party last year and she basically threw herself into your arms cause she _loved_ the flowers you gave her. I mean, she'd also had a lot of rosé, but I'd be a terrible son if I mentioned that.”

Dan couldn't help giggling and Kyle's own deep laugh rumbled pleasantly down his spine.

“Not to mention when you moved into my old room for three weeks after your flat got ruined by water damage.”

Kyle grasped Dan's shoulders and turned him around, and when he gently rubbed their noses together, Dan finally allowed himself to look up into his deep brown eyes. “They _adore_ you. The fact that we're sleeping together won't change that. And you know they're not homophobes.” Dan didn't reply and Kyle furrowed his brow. “You _do_ know they're not homophobes, right?”

Shrugging him off, Dan ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, _of course_ I know that. I'm just-” he exhaled heavily, “aren't you nervous, like, _at all_? What if they don't approve of us _because_ they know me? Because they know what I'm like? Or because they fear that people might start discriminating their only son? And don't even get me started on the whole grandchildren issue and carrying on the family name and-”

“Whoa there,” Kyle cut him short, “baby steps, yeah? And I don't mean that literally, cause I'm _so_ not ready to be anyone's daddy. Except if you-”

“ _Don't_ say it.”

Snickering, Kyle shook his head and ran his hands up and down his lover's arms. “In conclusion: no, I am not nervous. I'm bringing home somebody my parents already know and like. It's so much less nerve-racking than introducing them to someone new.”

Dan swallowed and pulled on the strings of Kyle's yellow hoodie. “I just feel like I was robbed of the chance to make a good first impression. And had I known that we'd be dating one day, I sure as hell wouldn't have gotten shitfaced with your dad.”

He glanced up at Kyle and could see as clear as day that the man was struggling to hold back a bout of laughter.

“Oh, go on then, laugh about my misery!” he whined and tried to turn away, but Kyle slung his arms around the shorter man's waist and held him tight.

“I wish you'd see that there's nothing to worry about. But I know worry is basically your middle name, so-” he raised Dan's hands to his lips, turned them over and kissed his palms softly, “I guess all I can do is promise that I've got your back. No matter what.”

Dan swallowed as he gazed deeply into his lover's eyes, searching for any hint of lingering doubt and heaving a relieved sigh when all he saw was kindness and sincerity. He nodded.

“Good boy,” Kyle whispered, leaning into Dan and crashing their lips together, grabbing hold of the collar of his shirt and kissing him in earnest until a small gasp escaped the older man and he leaned back with a grin.

“We should really go now if we don't want to be late.”

Dan groaned but before he could call him out on his teasing, Kyle put on an innocent expression and exclaimed, “You don't want my parents to think you're a _flake_ , do you?”

And Dan picked up his discarded trainer and threw it at the bedroom door just as his laughing lover disappeared through it.

/ /

_Now_

Kyle felt it was really quite compelling to watch his husband-to-be standing on a wobbly stool and attempting to hang up a big, colourful _Happy Birthday_ banner with the (largely unhelpful) assistance of Mrs Simmons Senior who seemed to be having the time of her life, squinting up at the tall man from behind her tiny green reading glasses and giving him rather vague instructions (“Higher! Well, not _that_ high!”) while Dan was struggling not to lose patience.

It was Kyle's mum's birthday and having spoken to the positively flustered woman on the phone the previous night, her son had promised that they would come over before the guests showed up to help with the preparations (which they ended up taking care of more or less single-handedly). In the meantime, Mrs Simmons herself scurried nervously around the house in her gorgeous party dress, adjusting the cutlery on the table, setting chairs in place and generally failing to act like she had any sort of overview of what was going on until her husband urged her to have a seat on the sofa with Kyle and enjoy a hot cup of tea.

Oh, what a _bloody_ cliché, the young man thought, that he and Dan were attending the family celebration acting like they were the happiest couple in the world, all smiles and congrats when Mrs Simmons had opened the door, when in reality, Kyle felt like days and nights were slowly but decidedly blurring into one and turning into a dizzying loop of loneliness, and the painful truth of hardly having spoken to Dan in days (besides a few occasions on which they had run into each other when the singer came home from the studio in the middle of the night and they exchanged a number of words that sounded strangely hollow to his ears) was weighing on his mind. It didn't feel like they were really living together right now, more like they were sharing the same space in different realities. No time for warmth nor intimacy.

Sipping his tea, Kyle furrowed his brow slightly as Dan climbed down from the stool and immediately tugged at the front of his jumper like he did countless times throughout the day, and he had to tamp down on the impulse to stand up, walk right over to his lover and hug him tightly. Kyle had genuinely believed that their limited downtime would give them a chance to compose themselves, to catch up on lost time and relax, but once again, Dan was letting people convince him to take care of this thing and that and _oh_ , perhaps write a few songs in the process as well, and Kyle felt like he had hardly set eyes on his partner since their return.

Married to his work.

Not exactly an encouraging prospect, considering that it was precisely what Kyle would have to compete with when ultimately asking Dan's hand in marriage.

Deep down, the keyboardist knew how worn out his partner was feeling and that Dan himself was probably less than happy about being coaxed into working on his days off, about passing out at four in the morning and being forced to get out of bed less than three hours later. But Kyle, despite loving to look after Dan, was slowly becoming more and more acutely aware of his own needs, his wishes – and the non-fulfilment of them.

As he watched his parents talk and laugh together, Kyle wondered how on earth they did it. Both had always had ambitious goals and time-consuming jobs, had often worked long hours in order to ensure their children's education and future opportunities, and yet, they had always had so much affection for one another, had unfailingly succeeded in showing their spouse as well as Kyle and his siblings all the love they carried in their hearts, all the support and devotion in the world.

It was different with Dan. His behaviour tended to turn all but _obsessive_ when it came to his job and he couldn't _not_ work on something or other for more than a few consecutive days without losing his mind. He was and would forever remain a workaholic – and Kyle had always known this. Though the particular character trait had certainly grown stronger and developed into a sort of monstrosity over the years, Dan had always been afraid to surrender control and had worked incredibly hard on himself and his projects from day one. Perhaps Kyle had been foolish for hoping that his influence would change this. He just wished Dan had enough strength left in him to acknowledge Kyle's hunger for closeness, a feeling that arose from nothing but love. He didn't even expect his partner to take the first step, he just wanted Dan to stop shutting him out.

Heaving a sigh, Kyle leaned back on the clunky sofa and his dad shot him a questioning look that his son shrugged off with an admittedly weak smile before getting up and excusing himself to the kitchen. He headed straight for the coffee maker in the hopes of waking himself up a little faster – seeing as he himself had been unable to fall asleep until he felt Dan crawl into bed – and leaned against the worktop, closing his burning eyes and yawning languidly. He felt like today's events might very well tip him over the edge of sanity.

There was a soft knock at the door and Kyle raised his head, hoping to see a familiar bespectacled face, but the pair of glasses that came into view was not _exactly_ Dan's style.

“Make that two, will you?” his grandmother asked with a winning smile and pointed at the purring machine, and Kyle nodded and grabbed a second cup.

“Daniel is _so_ helpful,” the woman gushed as she settled gingerly on one of the kitchen chairs, “Such a gentleman, isn't he?”

Kyle huffed tiredly and she threw him a curious side glance.

“Trouble in paradise, eh?” she concluded and her grandson sighed for the umpteenth time that morning.

“Nah. Dan's just very busy. We don't have a lot of time for each other right now.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “If it's the sex, I have recently read that it's important to try new things in the bedroom and that experimenting with-”

“Okay!” Kyle interrupted, clearing his throat, “duly noted.”

Her eyes bored into him relentlessly. “He's not cheating, is he?”

“Only with his _Casio_ ...” the man mumbled and the woman perked up her ears.

“What was that?”

“I said do you want a biscuit too!”

She declined politely and accepted the hot drink that Kyle handed her. “Don't you have any bigger ones?” she asked and inspected the tiny cup, and the young man had to laugh.

“It's espresso, nana. It's not supposed to- nevermind.”

Shrugging half-heartedly, the old lady downed the drink in one gulp before standing up with a groan and placing the cup in the sink. “Well, whatever is getting in your way, sort it out,” she proclaimed whilst pointing a threatening finger at Kyle who raised one eyebrow in amusement, “and I sincerely hope you intend to marry that man.”

Kyle's heart skipped a beat at his grandmother's words. Part of him was dying to tell her that proposing was _exactly_ what he was aching to do – except the woman couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it, so he simply chuckled and shook his head as she made for the door. When she opened it, she very nearly collided with one tall, dark-haired man who smiled weakly at her before shuffling into the middle of the small room, hands buried in his pockets and looking quite unhappy and – though Kyle had not thought it possible – even more exhausted than he had by the end of the tour. Kyle sighed. This man was going to work himself ill before long.

“I will leave you to it then,” his grandma shout-whispered and shut the door behind her with a loud thud, and the two men stood frozen and wordless for a moment as the upbeat living room chatter filled their ears like purling water.

Kyle cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Dan stared down at his well-worn shoes, looking like he was _miles away_ as he absentmindedly pulled on the hem of his jumper. Another minute or two passed before he looked up again, and when their eyes met, Kyle couldn't help smiling encouragingly at this man he adored _so much_ , because at the end of the day, no matter how long they walked in silence and cold-shouldered each other like strangers, no matter how many days they lost to other people's priorities and how many times the singer chose his work over him, Kyle would never doubt that the longing desire to find his soulmate had been fulfilled the very minute he met Dan.

“Come here,” he uttered quietly and reached out to grab the front of Dan's jumper, pulling him close and wrapping him in his arms as if he was touching him for the first time in years.

“I miss you, baby.”

Dan leaned heavily into the embrace and ran his hands up and down Kyle's back, and the taller man planted kiss after kiss on his temple.

“I miss you like crazy.”


	3. Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting, it means the world to me.  
> I love you all and I hope you have the best Christmas! ♥♥

_Two years ago_

It wasn't hard to guess that Woody was up to something when he fell more than he walked through the door of the tour bus, very nearly tripping over his own discarded rucksack before he perched on the very edge of the leather sofa where Dan was reading a truly godawful novel (which he was secretly relieved to be distracted from) and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Mate, guess what – I think Kyle has a new _special lady_ in his life!”

Alright, no preamble then.

While Dan stared blankly at his friend, the rushed words gradually began making sense – as if his brain was slowly spelling them out to him – and he suddenly felt on the verge of slipping into hysteria, knowing full well that any efforts to conceal that _he_ was actually said special “lady” might easily turn self-defeating and in their vehemence end up making him look unnecessarily suspicious. The singer decided to put on an air of innocence.

“How- how do you figure?”

The drummer grinned secretively. “I just saw him buying flowers at the petrol station down the road.”

“Are you _tailing_ him?”

“Would it be that far-fetched with how weird he's been acting lately?” Woody whispered and the younger man suddenly felt uncomfortably warm, “But really, Dan, you should've seen him – smiling like an idiot.”

Letting the pages of his book flutter shut, the singer smiled awkwardly. “That's, um ... nice, I guess? I mean, I'm happy for him if he's- you know-”

“I _knew_ something was going on with him. He's been in too good a mood for it to _not_ be about a girl. But,” Woody lowered his voice and shuffled closer still, “it doesn't make sense, we won't be home for another two days.”

Dan swallowed. “That's right.”

“So – what you thinking? He fancies someone we work with? I thought about it on the way back, but I can't figure out who it could possibly be.”

“Wish I could help you with that one, mate,” Dan laughed stiffly, pushing up his glasses and scrambling to get to his feet, “but I- uh ... I have to take care of something.”

And before his friend had a chance to reply, he stumbled his way out of the bus and into the chilly autumn air, zipping up his sweatshirt and pulling the hood over his head.

_Well, great._

Dan and Kyle had been talking about sharing their secret with the class (so to speak) for a while now, in rare moments of quiet contemplation and still unfamiliar earnestness, but they had agreed not to do it like this, not while they were touring the country – just to avoid being penned into a confined space on the off chance that the news was not received favourably.

One could argue that they should respectfully tell their families first, but in reality, it was not _them_ that Dan and Kyle spent a large portion of the year travelling and working with. If their parents had objections to their sons' romantic involvement, the men always had the (unpleasant) option to avoid seeing them for a while until the dust had settled and their families had gotten used to the idea enough to have a sensible conversation. If their bandmates found out about the relationship and decided that they didn't like them being “a thing”, they would _feel_ it, each and every day. They would continue to share a cramped space with a small group of people who might start eyeing them disapprovingly, maybe even _tutting_ and shaking their heads whenever the lovers would hold hands or share a kiss – and thus most definitely complicating their work routine.

Or at least these were some of the fears that were prompting Dan to postpone the unavoidable conversation, again and again.

He felt like Kyle had already figured out that all the elaborated and really very plausible-sounding reasons which he had recited many times over the course of the past weeks were only the tip of the iceberg, a catalogue of well-rehearsed excuses that the singer was frantically reiterating in order to divert from his _actual_ motive for putting off doing something that should by all means make him, make _both_ of them, very happy.

Dan loved Kyle, with all his heart. He could not claim that he loved the carefree yet deeply caring man more than he had ever loved anybody, but he was getting there with long, wishful strides. He adored his bandmates, too – they were, after all, the (slightly crazy) family he had chosen for himself and would forever be thankful for, the people who made him laugh when their lives felt too absurd to be real and encouraged him with endless patience whenever he had once again convinced himself that his work was entirely worthless. They had always had his back and Dan desperately needed their support one more time: not only did he hope they would _accept_ this relationship – he needed them to _approve_ of it.

With these anxiety-propelled doubts swimming behind his eyes and heralding the start of a migraine, Dan whipped out his phone and dialled his boyfriend's number as he power-walked off the car park and around the corner of that night's venue – and ran straight into the very same lanky man who huffed loudly in surprise. Kyle was indeed cradling a small, foil-wrapped bouquet of beautiful blue flowers and smiled brightly as soon as he realised just who he had collided with, then quickly slid his free hand around the back of Dan's neck and locked their lips together before handing him the flowers.

“I know people usually celebrate six months, not five, but I saw these and just-” he paused and kissed Dan again, “-couldn't resist.”

An affectionate smile lit up the singer's face. “Thank you, I love them. They're really beautiful.”

They truly were, bright and delicate and showcasing elaborate petals and a sweet fragrance that seemed to soothe Dan's senses.

Kyle shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Happy not-anniversary!”

“Yeah, about that,” Dan started hesitantly and cleared his throat, “turns out Woody kinda spied on you buying these and now he's convinced you're into someone from the team.”

After squinting at his partner for a moment, Kyle finally shrugged with a cheeky grin. Not _precisely_ the reaction the older man had expected.

“I mean, he's not _wrong_ ...”

“Yeah, except I'm not exactly the _special lady_ that Woody is hoping to find!” Dan exclaimed, using air quotes around the expression their long-haired friend had used earlier and sighing exasperatedly.

“Don't worry about it, babes,” Kyle said, reaching out to pinch his lover's nose affectionately, “I mean, we've been talking about telling them for a while now, let's just roll with it!”

A deep sigh fled Dan's lips. Here they were, rooted to the pavement in a town somewhere in the Midlands, standing between a rather run-down club and a dreary car park and choosing to finally discuss the very same fundamental life decisions that the singer had been sidestepping for weeks.

“What if ... what if they mind?”

“Why the hell would they mind?”

“Well, you know how Woody feels about _change_. He'll probably think we're gonna screw this up and drag the whole band into hell with us.”

Kyle hummed contemplatively, then slung an arm around Dan's shoulders and started walking him back towards the eerily quiet venue.

“So? We won't screw it up then!” he proclaimed with a confident smile and Dan glanced up at him, at the nonchalance in his posture and the flicker of amused reassurance in his warm eyes, and his heart stopped beating like a freight train as he sank into his lover's comforting hold. Kyle kissed his head softly.

“Woody can chill out. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me.”

Dan laughed. “God forbid that ever happens.”

Together they climbed back on the bus that was parked half-hidden behind a row of alder trees and made themselves comfortable on the old leather sofa, with the blue cornflowers displayed in a makeshift vase ( _slash_ milk bottle) on the coffee table, and when Woody finally rejoined them, Dan and Kyle confined themselves to watching him silently and cautiously. The singer could almost physically see the wheels turning in his friend's head as his gaze kept jumping back and forth between the small bouquet and the men sitting next to each other, holding hands and sharing warmth – and Dan would later regret not having captured the exact moment the penny dropped and the man's green eyes lit up with unconcealed bafflement.

/ /

_Today._

_It's happening today._

Long before Mrs Simmons' modest birthday party had officially ended, Dan and Kyle had made up some flimsy excuse as to why they had to leave _right away_ and hurried home in the early evening hours, spent the night together and lazed around in bed for many sweet hours the following morning, skin to skin, touching and laughing and uttering words dripping with devotion until they were forced to make themselves presentable for the pizza delivery boy. After these long-yearned-for bursts of once familiar closeness, Kyle felt cautiously hopeful that _this_ was the turn, that Dan had at last seen and _understood_ his lover's point of view and that things were finally looking up.

So he took the next big (if hesitant) step and began looking at engagement rings.

Unfortunately, this endeavour proved to be _even more_ nerve-jangling than Kyle had anticipated, primarily because he had no bloody clue where to start searching – which was quite ironic, seeing as he possessed a remarkable collection of rings himself (though, in his defence, it was usually Dan who would buy and slip them into his boyfriend's coat pocket or something similarly sneaky). After wading through thousands of online search results, far too much _bling-bling_ and extravagant descriptions such as _classic princess cut diamond set_ (which somehow failed to strike a chord with the keyboardist), Kyle managed to narrow it down to a slightly less overwhelming number of decent looking pieces that he believed his beloved would approve of, all silver and classic, all essentially identical, and he printed out five pages of grainy pictures, feeling the need to prepare himself as well as ensure that his point would come across when he sought out an actual jeweller for the first time in his life.

Only two weeks later he was very carefully holding a small, dark blue and luxuriously velveteen box in his hands, and the silver band sitting inside was cold and truly impeccable, the delicate inscription shimmering in the dim lamplight.

_It's perfect._

Kyle couldn't help scoffing at himself. He had never strived to attain perfection and he knew that people had never expected it from him, neither in his personal nor his professional life – it had simply never been a priority of his because, after all, flawlessness lay in the eye of the beholder and was very much borne of subjective experience. Instead, he focused his energy on always trying his hardest, on putting his whole heart into whichever project he was involved in and making sure he never felt regret over his choices (at least the important ones). Yet this time, like never before, Kyle wanted every single detail to be thoroughly thought-out, he needed to prove to his partner _and_ to himself that he was more than capable of planning something as significant as this, that their shared future was a serious and important subject to him that he was not at all taking lightly – and which he cared enough about to take matters into his own hands without someone else leading the way.

As part of this newfound sense of responsibility, Kyle had even cobbled together a clumsy speech in his head, a cluster of sentimental (if genuine) gibberish that made him feel irritatingly inadequate. Suddenly _he_ was the one spending sleepless nights and restless days struggling to translate his deepest emotions into prose, words which he would soon pour out of his very heart in a helpless attempt to articulate just _how much_ he adored the one person he was confident in calling a modern-day poet. Dan was the man of words, not he, Dan was the one who had the heartbreaking ability to compose words that hit hard and cut deep, and the thought of even _attempting_ to find a way to move this same man by utilising the very skill his partner had always excelled at genuinely terrified Kyle. He felt like he was trying to impress a renowned painter with a half-arsed napkin doodle.

But he _needed_ this, needed to get it done once and for all, so one surprisingly mild Saturday night a couple weeks before Christmas Kyle reserved a table at one of the _nicer_ restaurants in their neighbourhood (one that neither of the men would ever be able to dine at without feeling horribly misplaced) and while Dan spent all afternoon writing at the studio, Kyle marched up and down the length of their bedroom incessantly, inhaling and exhaling in an unsteady rhythm, staring at his reflection in the mirror until his features started looking _off_ , and trying on six different outfits, none of which he was truly satisfied with. He could not remember ever having felt quite this antsy before.

In the early evening, when he just _could not_ sit still anymore and had already stress-eaten half a packet of _Oreos_ (which he didn't even like very much), Kyle convinced himself to go out and buy a bunch of flowers, killing time joking awkwardly with the obviously disinterested florist and staring through the window of a well-patronised jeweller's as a twinge of panic prompted him to doubt his choice of ring. Upon his return, he spent fifteen minutes all but obsessively tugging the small yet lush bouquet into shape because he had to do _something_ with his hands to distract himself from how terribly they were trembling, then stayed sat on the edge of the bed bouncing his leg until enough hours had ticked by to justify his leaving and he stepped out into the cold evening air, the small velvet-covered box that lay safely in the inside pocket of his coat suddenly making him feel like a tremendous weight was pulling him down.

As he trod the pavement in thoughtful silence, Kyle couldn't stave off the same images that had been floating around his head ever since he had decided to propose, couldn't help picturing it – _married life_.

Truth be told, it wasn't as if a whole lot would change once they ( _if_ they) tied the knot – apart from the fact that Kyle would definitely start calling Dan his husband on every possible occasion, simply because he _could_ – but imagining their boring, wonderful everyday life took away some of the anxiety that plagued the man and reminded him why he was putting himself through this ordeal in the first place. It was the early morning scenes that wafted through his mind, the grounding and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee, Dan's pleasant body heat and the three-day stubble that scratched lightly against the sensitive skin of Kyle's collarbone when the singer snuggled into his arms, the mumbled complaints about having to get out of bed drowned out by the sounds of rush-hour traffic. It was the nights of hiding under the covers, the heavy rain knocking on the windows, cascading down the glass and reflecting the never-ceasing city lights as the lovers stared wordlessly into each other's eyes; the weekend trips and long walks along the rocky beach, sharing lukewarm tea from one cardboard cup (because Dan had said he didn't want any – but then he _did_ ), and celebrating the golden evening with sickly sweet pastries at some tiny bakery before taking the train back home, Dan's head heavy on Kyle's shoulder when the singer inevitably fell asleep. The hours of wandering around colourful streets after separating themselves from the rest of the group, somewhere in Asia or America, hand in hand and talking about how much they missed their little flat and their shower and their stupidly comfy sofa.

Kyle had at some point begun excessively overthinking the actual _wedding_ part of getting married, too – he didn't know whether Dan would be comfortable with having a reception of sorts, nothing exaggerated or tear-jerking, just a simple ceremony within the circle of their families and closest friends to celebrate their bond and the life that was waiting for them.

Their future.

Kyle had always found _“future”_ to be an annoyingly vague yet strangely scary term, a word that meant everything and nothing all at once, but for the first time in his life, he didn't mind being in the dark about what the future might bring because he knew that whatever happened, Dan would be there to hold his hand, to kiss his lips and scold him for leaving his clothes on top of the laundry basket instead of putting them inside, _again_ – and Kyle was certain that he would respond with nothing but love and patience and support, no matter what life had in store for them.

Dan might at some point wish to focus on writing exclusively for _other_ artists, prompting the bandmates to mutually agree that it was time to move on; the friends would settle down, pursue all those projects that had been neglected for years, would meet up on weekends and bank holidays to catch up and wallow in treasured memories. Maybe Dan and Kyle would adopt a cat someday (the keyboardist would love to come home to a moody, yawning feline), and who knew, perhaps they'd even decide to have kids ( _yes_ , plural).

It sounded all too perfect to ever come to pass, especially considering that Kyle would probably have to _sedate_ Dan in order to get him to stop working for longer than a few weeks at a time, but if he was being honest with himself, he didn't mind the idea of a quiet life somewhere outside of London, where they could breathe slightly cleaner air and the world was a little bit darker at night.

He did not mind it at all.

And yet, _right now_ was so much more important than the hoped-for future that Kyle couldn't yet fathom – he was, after all, about to ask what was undoubtedly one of the most substantial questions of his adult life (alongside “do you want to go out with me?” and “should we move in together?”) and besides _freaking out_ and concentrating all his energy on trying not to trip over his own feet, there was no space in his head to get lost in any more future visions. And while the young man sat on the bus and stared out the window, he revelled in the feeling of his own heart beating strongly in his chest as he listened to Dan's favourite playlist and pictured his lover bouncing awkwardly around their bedroom whilst singing along to the songs he loved.

At 7.13 pm, when Kyle had been waiting at a bus stop near the restaurant for over half an hour, nervous and excited like a child on Christmas Eve who couldn't _wait_ to get through the stupid nativity play and finally open his presents, his phone buzzed as he received a text message from Dan, and his stomach dropped when he read the hurried words.

_Rain check on dinner? Can't get away right now_

_Love you xx_


	4. The Bigger Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe everybody who reads this story a cake ♥  
> Kudos, comments and criticism are always welcome and appreciated.  
> Love you guys! ♥

_A little over two years ago_

Dan was dangerously close to tumbling into a spectacular nervous meltdown.

The band was supposed to be leaving for America in less than twenty-four hours – their very first and thus unnervingly exciting tour of the unfathomably large country – and the singer was facing last-minute passport issues.

Things had started going downhill the moment he woke up and realised that _one_ , he had massively overslept (which, in the light of his insanely long to-do list, was definitely a problem) and _two_ , he could not for the life of him find his _bloody passport_. Needless to say, he freaked out and proceeded to turn his tiny flat upside down in a frantic search of the small yet so valuable book, and almost an hour later, he finally found it – in the washing machine.

It wasn't _entirely_ ruined but certainly damaged enough to make Dan wonder whether he would be allowed to enter the country, so he contacted the closest Passport Office for advice and was told very calmly that he needed to complete the proper forms in order to have his passport replaced. The nice lady he spoke to added _not so calmly_ that she'd see what they could do when the young man mentioned sheepishly that he desperately needed it the next day.

Whilst filling in the (hopefully) correct online application, Dan dialled his boyfriend's number, already nearly hyperventilating before the man even had a chance to pick up.

“Hello?”

“I'm fucked. I am _so_ screwed, Kyle, I-”

“Dan, slow down. What happened?”

Laughing hysterically, Dan dragged a shaking hand through his knotted hair. He already tended to get travel anxiety, performance anxiety, _America-anxiety_ which was definitely becoming a thing right now, and _this_ sort of issue was exactly what he didn't need. This right here was the type of situation that he always feared would unfold, the kind of anxious anticipation that the others would mostly dismiss as doom-mongering – and to be fair, nothing truly terrible had ever happened while they were on the road and Dan would usually forget about his personal worst case scenarios as soon as he was able to confirm with his own two eyes that people were actually showing up and that they were capable of finishing a performance without anyone massively screwing up (mainly him) or falling off the stage (also mainly him). But of course his fears finally had to come true – _today_ of all days.

So obviously, being a calm and collected type of person, the singer immediately started crying.

“Hey,” Kyle stuttered, clearly taken by surprise, “h-hey, calm down.”

But he _couldn't_ , not when he was all by himself in his awfully messy flat, not with the summer rain pounding on the rattling windows and gnawing away at his composure, not when he was seconds away from throwing in the towel. Dan was one hundred per cent sure that simply _everything_ was ruined, that they wouldn't be able to go to America because _he_ wouldn't be allowed past the border and that everybody was going to be incredibly mad at him. They would be in trouble with the label, the guys would quit the band and Dan would go back to wiping down sticky tables at some shitty coffee shop and living in his granny's cold, dusty basement.

This was exactly what he told his boyfriend as well – only in quite a lot more detail and all while breathing harshly down the phone. Unsurprisingly and even though Dan was well aware that the younger man was trying his best to reason with him, it was proving quite difficult for Kyle to get a word in edgeways.

Amidst his crying and panicking and near-yelling, Kyle suddenly laughed quietly, a familiar, delightful noise that wafted through the speaker like a gentle spring breeze, and as soon as Dan heard the misplaced sound, he fell silent and huffed in annoyance.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

A moment of quiet passed between them before Kyle chuckled and said, “Ah, nothing. Just- I love you.”

And Dan hung up on him.

In all fairness, the singer's rash reaction was not at all calculated, but rather an unfortunate combination between feeling incredibly startled and accidentally pressing random buttons – see, they had not said them before, the big three words, and Dan certainly hadn't been prepared to hear them today, not in the midst of this whole debacle. He had been contemplating it for the past few weeks, uttering the first of many _I Love Yous_ , but it proved much more difficult than expected and Dan had realised that he needed to psyche himself up first, to muster the courage to articulate how he felt and find the right moment to bare his soul. This was a serious relationship now – perhaps the most serious that he had ever been in.

Groaning deeply, Dan flopped down on the edge of his bed, feeling strangely shiftless. He had just hung up on his boyfriend _seconds_ after Kyle had confessed his love for the very first time.

_Good job._

The singer tried reaching his lover quite a few more times throughout the day, but unluckily, all his calls went straight to voicemail and Dan eventually gave up as the day slowly faded into the night. But he couldn't stop worrying, could not help but wonder how Kyle would react and what he might say to him tomorrow – _if_ he would say anything at all. As he continued trying to resolve his exasperating passport problem, procrastinated on packing and nearly lost his mind over the pressure of the upcoming tour, the sinking feeling in Dan's stomach intensified, a horrible suspicion that he might have just fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Around five in the morning, he spent a frantic three minutes throwing rumpled clothes and a range of random toiletries into an old suitcase, left the house and joined the queue in front of the Passport Office (where he studiously ignored the pressing advice to be more careful with his belongings in the future) before rushing off to the airport.

Kyle arrived in the bustling lobby about half an hour after his lover, looking like he had slept about as much as Dan had (not at all) and only glancing at his boyfriend very briefly while he mumbled a gloomy _good morning_. All through security, during their wait at the busy gate and after they were finally allowed onto the plane, the only time Kyle so much as acknowledged the older man's presence was when Dan placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. His sole response was a muttered _thanks_ before he got up and left the dejected singer to join the others.

After enduring the long and truly tiring flight, many tedious security checks and even more uncomfortable travelling, the bandmates finally arrived at the breathtakingly crowded site of their first American festival in the late, still smouldering afternoon, set up camp and quickly fanned out to catch whichever bands they were most intrigued to see. Dan searched for Kyle for longer than he cared to admit, nosing through the mass of jumping bodies until he spotted the tall, bearded man standing on the edge of a noisy crowd that had gathered in front of one of the smaller stages. He approached his lover slowly, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he touched Kyle's shoulder tentatively. The younger man turned to face him and recognition quickly dawned on his face, the dark eyes that Dan had gazed into many a time illuminated by the flashing neon lights and clouded with confusion, and flinching away from the gentle touch, the keyboardist swiftly turned back towards the stage, bopping his head to the bassy rhythm and ignoring the other man.

He looked hurt and unsure, and for a moment, Dan contemplated walking away and giving his lover the space that he craved – at least until they found themselves in a safe place where they could talk things out in peace and without being surrounded by thousands of screaming strangers –, but then he realised that this was not what Kyle needed him to do, it wasn't what either of them wanted. So the singer resolved to quit shying away from commitment, to stop to postpone facing his feelings, and squeezed past a dancing couple to stand right in front of the taller man. He grasped Kyle's face in his hands with gentle force and kissed his soft lips firmly.

The keyboardist looked dumbstruck at first, mildly annoyed even, and swaying into his lover's space, Dan pressed his cheek against Kyle's, ensuring that the man would be able to hear him clear as day over the dizzying noise level.

“I love you too!” he all but yelled into his best friend's ear, leaned back and glanced up at him cautiously, feeling the icy grip of fear around his throat.

A tender smile slowly transformed Kyle's restless features as he hugged Dan tightly. When he replied, his voice was barely louder than a whisper and the singer wasn't sure how he was able to hear it over the deafening music.

“Thank you.”

They stood silently in a loving embrace until the act finished their gig and the two men were forced to move away from the stage along with the streams of exhilarated fans, but Kyle did not let go of Dan's hand until they climbed back on the tiny tour bus and raved to the others about a performance that they hadn't paid attention to at all.

/ /

_Now_

Throwing the drooping flowers on the table unceremoniously, Kyle fell heavily into one of the uncomfortable kitchen chairs and lay his head on the cold wooden surface with a weary sigh.

This _sucked_. He was supposed to be having dinner right now. He was supposed to be unable to swallow even a single bite of his food because he simply couldn't take his eyes off the dark-haired and beautifully freckled man across the small table, was supposed to feel his heartbeat quicken as the surprisingly different shades of blue in Dan's astonishing eyes melted together in the hot, flickering light of the tall candles. He was supposed to pull the velvet box out of his coat with trembling fingers, was supposed to ask a crucial four-word question and hear a significant one-word answer in response.

_Supposed to._

Instead of proposing to the man who owned his heart and drowning in bliss, Kyle was sat all alone in their underheated, gloomy flat, _angry-crying_ and struggling to convince himself that anger would not get him anywhere and that it wasn't like Dan knew what his boyfriend had planned for tonight. He hadn't known and yet, Kyle couldn't help lingering on the discouraging thought that this could have been their first romantic date in a very long time and the fact that Dan had _promised_ he'd be there; not to mention that the younger man genuinely wondered whether he didn't even deserve a bloody phone call – or anything more than a quick text, really.

He sighed, wiping at his face and clenching his jaw. Part of him wanted to _show Dan_ , to make the singer see that he couldn't just shove him around and push him away, but Kyle was too proud to descend into vindictive behaviour now – and this wasn't preschool. They were just going to have to sort things out like the adults they were.

He hated the thought.

Finally forcing himself up, Kyle decided to do the exact same thing he always did when he was nervous, upset or stressing out over some seemingly unsolvable problem – he brewed tea after tea after tea and ate a ton of chocolate biscuits before lying face down on the sofa and switching on the television. Nearly an hour into an admittedly epic deep sea documentary that was narrated in a wonderfully over-the-top TV ad voice, Kyle heard the keys turn in the front door and his entire body instantly tensed up as he grappled to find the remote control between the cushions and turned off the noisy television, sitting in the dark and holding his breath until Dan appeared in the living room doorway, cheeks flushed, wet hair plastered to his forehead and flashing him a soft-eyed smile as soon as he saw him. Kyle hadn't even heard it start raining.

“Hi, babe,” the singer sighed and shook out his hands, shuddering as he shrugged off his soaking coat and threw it over the backrest of the sofa.

_Be the bigger person._

“Hey,” Kyle answered quietly and got up, walking towards his lover and gently laying his warm hands on the man's freezing skin, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Dan closed his eyes, smiling and leaning into the touch, and the younger man had to swallow down the disappointment that was still gnawing away at him as his boyfriend's obvious ease and deep-rooted trust hit him like a stab to the heart.

“I'm sorry about tonight,” Dan mumbled on, “we were so close to wrapping up this thing we've been grinding away at for _weeks_ and-”

“Did you finish it?”

Dan huffed a humourless laugh and shook his head. “Mark's wife called and told him to get his arse home, so we gave up for today.”

Kyle stared at his partner in bafflement. How _lovely_ , when Mark's wife asked him to come home, he dropped everything and immediately set off, but when Kyle invited Dan out to have dinner at a nice restaurant for the first time in forever, it was okay for his lover to send him a single message with the words _rain check_? This wasn't right. It wasn't right at all and Kyle quickly let go of his partner's face and turned away from him, shutting his eyes and breathing deep, shaky breaths.

_Be the bigger person._

“Kyle?” Dan asked hesitantly and the younger man squeezed his eyes shut tighter, “are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? It's not like you stood me up or anything, right?”

He turned back around and stared at Dan who was looking rather befuddled, his big blue eyes unusually dark and full of anxious energy.

“Wh- I told you I wasn't going to make it!”

“You sent me a _text_ , fifteen minutes _after_ we were supposed to meet up!”

“Oh, so clearly you _aren't_ mad then,” Dan scoffed sarcastically and Kyle shook his head in disbelief.

“What?! I thought it was enough!” the singer exclaimed and crossed his arms defensively.

“Well, it _wasn't_.”

That was the whole point. Kyle deserved better than being _fobbed off_ like this, he deserved an explanation, an apology – not an offhand text message and bloody sarcasm.

_Be the bigger person._

“I just-” Kyle ran a hand through his hair, huffing, “this was important to me, okay? I was looking forward to it. I bought you _flowers_.” Dan flinched imperceptibly. “It wasn't _movie night_ or _'hey, let's hang out and have a drink'_ or something. I reserved a table for us and invited you – and you promised you'd be there.”

“I-I didn't know it was such a big deal for you.” Dan uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets instead. “And I mean – y-you always knew what I was like with work stuff. You knew _before_ we started dating actually, so don't act surprised now.”

Kyle threw his hands up in desperation. “Me knowing what I was getting into and _still_ getting into it doesn't give you a free pass to be a dickhead!”

“Oh, so now I'm a dickhead!”

“You don't get it, Dan! I was going to-”

_Propose._

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks. _No. No no no._ He couldn't _believe_ he had almost said those words, that he had so very nearly given away the surprise.

_Oh._ That was it – this was the heart of it all.

Because at the end of the day, they could argue like children and disappoint one another, they could set priorities that worked against their relationship and stand each other up – yet Kyle didn't doubt for even a fraction of a second whether he still wanted to propose or not; the thought hadn't even crossed his mind until now. Sure, he was upset and disappointed and annoyed about having put himself through a lot of pressure for no reason whatsoever. But despite any wrongs and through all the ups and downs, their love would always bring them back to one another. And what else really mattered in the long run?

Kyle swallowed. _The bigger person._

“Listen-”

“I'm sorry.” Dan gazed deeply into the younger man's eyes, looking strangely shaken. “I'm sorry I didn't show up. And I'm sorry I didn't have the decency to at least _call you_. You deserve better and I shouldn't have chosen work over us when you clearly put a lot of thought into the where and when and how.” He exhaled loudly. “And I'm sorry for interrupting you just now.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Kyle exhaled a defeated laugh. “Well. I'm glad you did.”

Dan furrowed his brow. “Why, were you finally gonna dump me?”

Swiftly closing the short distance between them, Kyle wrapped the shorter man up in his arms, shuddering slightly as he felt Dan's cold hands through the flimsy fabric of his shirt. He inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth that filled up his heart slowly melt away the icy bite of anger as he sighed into Dan's hair, shaking his head.

It was okay – he would get another chance. Their love didn't have an expiry date.

“ _Never_.” He smiled. “If I dumped you, then whose T-shirts would I wear when all mine are in the wash?!”


	5. Death to the Pixies (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the last chapter into two so it wouldn't be annoyingly long - so here's Pt. I (Pt. II to follow soon).  
> Thank you so much to anyone who has read, commented or left kudos so far. It's wonderful to think about these things when I forget why I'm spending so much time on these silly stories.  
> Love you all and happy birthday to someone who may or may not read this ♥♥

_Two and a half years ago_

Dan was feeling _irked_. His best friend was clearly avoiding him and it was starting to drive the singer up the wall.

There was no reasonable explanation for Kyle's unusually unapproachable behaviour, the men had neither disagreed nor quarrelled over anything – on the contrary, they had been getting on splendidly as of late, had fallen into a comfortable routine of going out for a drink or two or staying in to watch a film and order takeaway on several nights a week, either with friends or, since fairly recently, by themselves. It made Dan _happy_ and he felt surprisingly at ease with himself and his place in the world, as if his ever-hungry anxiety was beginning to melt away for the first time in his life, leaving space for his burgeoning confidence to take the upper hand.

This little bubble of cosiness burst rather suddenly when Kyle sent Dan a very curt text message one Wednesday evening and cancelled their evening plans indefinitely – apparently, he had a nasty cold. Trying to conceal his disappointment behind worry and solidarity, Dan wished his friend a quick recovery, habitually asked whether the younger man needed anything at all and was immediately proven right in his assumption that much like himself, Kyle would rather suffer in silence than make anybody go out of their way to help him. So Dan simply let him be.

This had been four days ago and Kyle was neither answering the singer's frequent texts nor his increasingly concerned calls.

It wasn't like Dan was _desperate_ per se, but it bugged him that none of the man's close friends seemed to be aware of this mysterious illness that appeared to be plaguing the keyboardist and no one else was complaining about an uncharacteristic lack of communication from the exceptionally talkative man; Will even mentioned bumping into him at the shops – on more than one occasion, it seemed.

So, at the end of the day, there was only one possibility: Kyle was lying to him.

Feeling puzzled and perturbed and running out of options, Dan decided to take a trip to Kyle's flat to find out what his friend was _really_ up to, but despite ringing the doorbell and calling the man's name loudly and repeatedly, he was still studiously ignored. Only _after_ he had given up and left the chilly corridor with a defeated slump of his shoulders, Kyle shot him a few offhanded text messages ('sorry I didn't catch you' and 'speak soon') – and Dan was seriously getting annoyed. If his friend was really as awfully sick as he said he was, he should step down from this ridiculous self-built pedestal of misplaced pride and accept some _damn_ help already.

And well, if he wasn't, then Dan would very much like to know why the hell he was lying to him.

One discouraging thought and a nagging intrusion into his mind was the notion that Kyle might simply be tired of the singer – in which case, Dan thought, he should just _say something_. It wouldn't be the first time somebody had told him that he was a bit of a handful, and it most probably wouldn't be the last time either; Dan could handle being rejected and he was well aware that the two men had been spending an unusual, possibly even _excessive_ amount of time in each other's company – it would not be surprising if Kyle decided that he needed some space.

Torn between the desire to be important to his friend and refusing to be brushed off like this, Dan resolved to try one last time, vowing that, should Kyle use the same vague excuses again, he would finally give up. He went so far as to having the other confirm that he was indeed still riding out this most bothersome flu and would be stuck at home for the foreseeable future before he took the bus to the familiar housing block, sensing the smothering nervousness that often haunted him slowly seep back into his senses, and as he shuffled up to the modest flat, his steps were faltering and heavy and he felt like the echoing staircase would never come to an end.

Halting in front of the door with the name _K. Simmons_ scribbled on a slip of paper next to the doorbell, he sighed deeply as he pressed the small button, swallowing around the tightness in his throat.

Silence.

He tried again, leaning his forehead against the smooth wood as he listened to the shrill sound dying away on the other side of the door, then inhaled deeply and called out his friend's name, his voice shaky and dripping with reluctance. A distinct shuffling sound reached Dan's ears and he held his breath, could almost feel his friend struggling not to make a sound. The singer called his name again, leaning on the glimmer of hope that fluttered in his chest.

Still nothing.

Not even the slightest sign of recognition.

And suddenly, Dan could feel himself coming undone.

Kyle was going to vehement lengths to avoid seeing him, so much was clear – but what if this strange behaviour of his was more than a momentary mood? What if Kyle didn't want him in his life anymore, period? Not that Dan would be surprised.

_You've been waiting for this to happen since the moment you met him._

The singer held his breath. He didn't even have the confidence to blame Kyle for going about cutting him off in this _ugly_ manner and as if in a trance, he simply turned around, walked down the stairs and out the front door of the grey building, and sat down at the nearest bus stop between a mother cradling her sleeping toddler and an old man carrying a walking stick.

The panic within him kept rising and rising like a tidal wave that surfaced at long last after building up for days, and finally, in accepting what he believed to be true, the brittle dam that separated reason from raw emotion collapsed spectacularly and Dan's utmost fears threatened to drown him.

He was vaguely aware that his breathing was quickening, his heart stumbling and that every gulp of air he was forcing into his lungs sounded like a muffled sob, and the only clear thought running through his head was that he should feel _ashamed_ , embarrassed about losing his composure in front of two complete strangers. But he couldn't subdue his reaction, not when he felt as if his very soul was being torn to shreds at the prospect of losing his best friend.

A hand on his shoulder and a soft yet unfamiliar voice fought to cut through the fog that wafted around the singer's head, asking whether he was okay, whether he was hurt. And he _was_ hurting, Kyle was ignoring him, pushing him away like their friendship didn't mean a thing to him, like Dan was nothing but a nuisance that the younger man needed to get rid of, someone who didn't deserve an explanation. Dan had never even told Kyle that he was so much more than just a friend to him, that he was an anchor, the one he trusted most in this world and the only person who could always, _always_ cheer him up. The first one Dan confided in when he was overwhelmed with feelings that didn't make sense, the first one he called with good news or bad.

Dan had chosen not to believe in soulmates until he met Kyle.

He didn't get a chance to delve deeper into the painful thoughts before he felt two warm and gentle hands on his face, and he didn't need to be able to see through the haze that glazed over his eyes to know exactly who they belonged to. He tried to shake them off weakly until Kyle's voice filtered through the sound of his heart hammering in his ears, then opened his eyes to see his friend's face right in front of him, concerned and full of sadness. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to _slap_ him.

Instead, Dan gasped something that sounded muddled even to his own ears and pushed Kyle away, again and again as the younger man continued trying to grasp his hands until he pulled the singer off the narrow metal bench, holding him upright and talking to him in a steady tone. By the time Dan had calmed down enough to breathe somewhat evenly, the two strangers had left on one of the double-decker buses that passed by every ten minutes or so and Kyle had guided him to sit back down, one arm slung tightly around the other's shoulders and his forehead pressed against Dan's temple. The singer shrugged him off again, feeling bouts of anger resurface now that he had exhausted himself of all other emotions, and Kyle readily surrendered, pulling his arm back and raising his hands in an all but defensive pose.

“You're not sick,” Dan snapped, his voice wavering slightly, “being an arsehole isn't a disease, Kyle.”

“I know,” the younger man admitted quietly and nodded in defeat, “I'm a fucking idiot, I know that, and I-I'm _so_ sorry.”

The singer scoffed. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Dan.”

“Don't _Dan_ me, I don't care what you say. I'm just gonna do what you did and go home and not give a shit.”

Kyle sighed and Dan turned to glance at him for the first time, slightly taken aback at just how _downhearted_ the keyboardist looked, and he had to remind himself not to grow soft on him, a resolution that proved exceedingly difficult when Kyle was staring at him like some sort of lost, dewy-eyed puppy.

“You could've just _told_ me,” he grumbled and the hint of panic passing through Kyle's eyes didn't escape his notice.

“Told you- told you what?” he stammered and wrung his hands.

Dan furrowed his brow and looked away. “You-you know – that you want me to leave you alone or whatever.”

A look of sheer confusion dominated Kyle's tired features for a moment before he broke into fits of hysterical laughter and Dan could do nothing but stare at his friend incredulously.

“Are you _serious_?” he exclaimed and stood, making to walk away when Kyle jumped up, gripped his hand and pulled him back, wrapping him tightly in his arms. Dan wanted to struggle and shout at him, to just go home and cry already, but Kyle's face was so very close to his own that he lost any and all train of thought, and suddenly, the taller man took a shaky breath, screwed his eyes shut and pressed their lips together unceremoniously. He pulled back rather quickly, almost as one might go about ripping off a plaster, and regarded the dumbstruck singer with a nervous, inquiring glance.

“I don't want you to leave me alone. More like the opposite. I just- I didn't know how to tell you.”

Dan gaped at him, his mind drawing a complete blank. “So you ignored me.”

“I ... yeah?” The young man's voice wavered audibly and he ran a nervous hand through his hair, looking much like a chain smoker in desperate need of a cigarette. “I-I thought if I had more time to think of a battle plan ...”

“You're an idiot.”

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks. “I know.”

“You should've just _talked_ to me.”

“I _know_.”

They fell quiet for a moment and Kyle continued to hold Dan in his arms while the older man tried to process this new information, his mind struggling to keep up with everything that was happening.

“You're an idiot,” he concluded.

Kyle groaned. “Yes, thank you. I get that.”

As he laughed, the crushing weight of heavy emotions seemed to be lifted off Dan's chest and he simply gazed into Kyle's warm eyes, thinking that drowning in them did not seem like such a terrible prospect after all. The younger man cleared his throat and Dan saw a blush slowly creep up his neck.

“So, um ... I-I mean, maybe ... do you- do you want to?” Kyle stuttered, the words so quiet that they almost got lost in the gentle breeze that ruffled Dan's hair, and the singer blinked, shaken from his dreamlike state.

“Do I want to what?”

Kyle fidgeted with one of the buttons on his plaid shirt. “You know, um ... g-go out. On a date.” He stared into the singer's eyes. “With me.”

Another moment passed and Dan couldn't help but think that it was scenes like these that made your life flash before your eyes. Forget near-death experiences, standing at the brink of something new and facing the impossible choice between jumping and scrambling away from the edge was what really made you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He inhaled shakily, feeling every single heartbeat like the blow of a hammer.

“Yeah, I- um … yes.”

And he jumped, hoping that Kyle would be standing at the bottom to catch him.

/ /

_Now_

For a short while, things seemed a tad more tense between the lovers than Kyle was used to, for the most part because Dan was trying continuously and in a less than subtle fashion to make it up to his boyfriend (even though Kyle had assured him emphatically and with a dismissive eye-roll that it truly wasn't necessary), but ultimately, they were okay. Regrettably, Dan appeared reluctant to accept a forthright reconciliation and a week after their little dispute, the singer reserved a table at the same cosy restaurant that Kyle had originally chosen for their thwarted dinner date. Of course, he didn't object to the well-intended invitation, but as much as Kyle relished the romantic evening, he quickly abandoned his initial intentions – he was still keen on sticking to his carefully thought-out plans of how and when to pose the most weighty question that he carried in his heart.

Another time then.

A few busy days later, they travelled to New York City for a bunch of last-minute Christmas shows, and even though Kyle couldn't quite picture proposing in America, though he would certainly feel more at peace doing it in the city that they had first crossed paths in, on the streets they knew by heart and close to the home which they had created hand in hand and fallen asleep in arm in arm on many a starry night, he still took the ring anyway.

It was snowing softly when they reached their destination and as they wandered the ever-buzzing streets of the insomniac city, Kyle felt as exhilarated as he had ever been. Here he was, exploring an awe-inspiring country, one that he never thought he would ever get to travel, in the company of the man he loved and some of his closest friends – and for once, they would be back home in time to celebrate his favourite holiday with their loved ones. The future seemed as golden as the supple afternoon sunshine and Kyle genuinely believed that this was the happiest he had ever felt in his life. As they strolled down the pavement, joking and laughing and stopping to glance into the occasional abundantly decorated shop window, he hooked his index and middle fingers into the pocket of Dan's striking red plaid coat, aware that this was as close as they would get to holding hands in public, and the singer turned to look at him as soon as he felt a weight pulling on his coat and raised his brows in question. While their chattering bandmates halted in front of a quaint coffee cart, Kyle quickly grabbed Dan's hand and pulled him behind a graffiti-covered phone booth, framing his face and kissing him passionately. The shorter man's cheeks were tinted bright pink, tiny snowflakes were caught in his dark hair and white clouds rose into the freezing air with every breath he drew, and staring deeply into the sinking blue of his melancholy eyes, Kyle tugged the singer's coat tighter around his slim form. Dan's mildly nonplussed expression transformed into a look of fragile contentment that seemed to momentarily chase away the air of self-consciousness and concern that usually surrounded him. He smiled.

“What was that for?”

“Hmm, I just felt like kissing a pretty boy.”

Dan squinted at the taller man. “That something you do a lot? Kiss pretty boys?”

Kyle pressed his lips against the singer's forehead. “Only the one.”

“That's a relief,” his boyfriend huffed and grasped Kyle's hands tightly, pulling him forward and crashing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss, “cause I'm not willing to share.”

As they kept each other warm, arm in arm and their chests pressed together, Kyle suddenly felt one edge of the small ring box that he still carried in his coat pocket poke sharply into his ribs and he laughed a deep laugh, burying his face in Dan's fluffy hair and kissing his temple. He exhaled slowly.

Today was as bright a day as any other and it really didn't matter where they were, so long as they were together.

_So why wait?_

Smiling, Kyle ruffled his lover's hair and pinched his nose affectionately.

Why wait indeed, when all he ever wanted was right in front of him?


	6. Death to the Pixies (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. ♥

Dan had no idea what in the world Kyle was up to.

The younger man had retreated to the couple's shared room over an hour ago, claiming that he wanted to get a snatch of rest while his friends were enjoying a number of horrendously overpriced drinks at the well-stocked hotel bar, and Dan couldn't help wondering if there was something _more_ behind the disquietude that seemed to distress his lover when he excused himself with soft-spoken words. But Kyle had (once again) promised that everything was absolutely fine – so perhaps the singer really needed to stop obsessing over each minor shift in the other's behaviour when it was likely that nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

Clearly getting tired of watching Will play a hectic game of pinball on a machine that stood in a dim corner of the room, Woody walked over to Dan with confident steps and sat next to him at the polished marble counter, nudging the singer with his elbow and smiling.

“Alright, mate?”

Dan sighed. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure. What about Kyle? I mean ... you guys didn't have a fight, did you?” he inquired carefully, nodding vaguely in the direction of the shiny lifts, and Dan blinked in surprise.

“Uh, nope. No, I- there was a _thing_ , but we're fine now. I think he's just jet-lagged.”

Nodding to himself, the drummer swung around on the cream-coloured bar stool and glanced over at Charlie and Will who appeared to be enmeshed in a bit of a struggle with the oldish and rather obnoxious machine.

“Two and a half years, huh?”

Dan took a swig of the bitter alcohol he had ordered despite being less than fond of it and cringed as it burned down his throat.

“What's that?”

Woody grinned. “As much as I would've liked to, I didn't think you two would last this long.”

“Ha, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The long-haired man chuckled and they lapsed into silence as they continued watching their cheerful and slightly tipsy friends. Charlie was groaning in frustration as he continued frantically (and seemingly randomly) pressing the game's colourful, cheap-looking buttons and Will was laughing heartily at his friend's dismay.

“You think you guys are ever gonna get married?”

A sharp burst of laughter broke from Dan's lips, a reaction of sheer scepticism that escaped him before he could realise that the man was indeed posing a sincere question, and his face immediately fell like thunder. He swallowed, then swung around in the same fashion as his friend before him, cradling the glass of whiskey that lay heavily in his hand and gazing into space.

Were they?

He cleared his throat. “Why are you asking?”

“Because. If you were a guy and a gal, everyone would be asking by now,” Woody explained and shrugged imperviously, “I mean, you live together, you love each other. You're happy.”

Dan made a face. “People don't _have_ to get married anymore, you know?”

“I'm aware, that's why I'm asking if you _want_ to.”

“You invested?”

“There's a bet I need to win.”

Laughing softly, the singer tried to focus on the warm feeling in his chest, a calm sensation that fought to shine brighter than the anxiousness that crept into his mind. Some time ago, Dan had speculated that Kyle was indeed planning on proposing to him, a conclusion he had come to after walking an entwined path of muddled information and misleading emotions, but his partner had neither made a move nor dropped any hints whatsoever and after a while, the singer had been convinced that the whole thing had been but a figment of his imagination.

_Or wishful thinking._

“I think I'd like to,” he finally mumbled – albeit haltingly – and Woody eyed him with a glint in his eye.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So what's stopping you?”

Dan furrowed his brow. “You mean I should-”

“Absolutely.”

“I don't know if he wants to, Woody.”

The drummer sipped at his beer slowly, seeming to swirl it around in his mouth momentarily. “Want me to drop some subtle hints?”

“Please don't,” the singer huffed, a humourless laugh bubbling from his throat, and Woody grinned.

“What, you don't trust me to-”

“Guys,” Will interrupted the men's idle banter, holding up his empty wine glass and raising both brows, “we were thinking we could move this upstairs?”

Dan shrugged one shoulder non-committally, lost in thought. “Sure, why not? Just gonna drop by our room real quick,” he sighed before gathering up his wallet and room key and following his bandmates to the lifts.

On their way through the confusingly similar and annoyingly unimaginative hallways, the friends were laughing loudly and talking across each other while Dan remained mostly still, helplessly surrendering to the uncomfortable, squirming feeling in his gut. Woody had once again planted this idea in his head like a seed, the heart-accelerating image of Kyle proudly wearing a slim gold band on his finger, an idea that was making him feel all warm and fuzzy and like his head was wrapped in thick cotton. Dan wasn't _set_ on marrying, not at all, but picturing it still made him giddy with excitement – and Woody wasn't wrong, they lived together, loved each other, so why shouldn't they? Even if just to live up to some people's standards or defy other's, Dan would like to. He really would.

They finally stopped in front of the tastefully furnished hotel room and Dan swiped the unassuming keycard, pushed the door open confidently – and stopped dead in his tracks.

There were blood red rose petals _everywhere_ , littering the thick blue carpet and the crisp white sheets and lying scattered around the flickering candles that stood tall on the bedside tables.

At first, Dan was a hundred per cent convinced that they had somehow stumbled into the wrong room, but then Kyle emerged from the en-suite bathroom looking jittery and restless and he flushed as red as the lush flowers that surrounded him the second he spotted the small group of men standing in the doorway in awkward silence.

“Uh, hi,” Will finally mumbled hesitantly and with a small wave of his hand, and Kyle quickly looked from him to Dan, dark eyes searing into the singer's until their anxious energy seemed to fill every fibre of the older man's body.

_Say something._

But _what_? Dan had no idea what on earth he was supposed to say – or what was going on for that matter – and blinking frantically, Kyle finally walked towards them, squeezed past his friends with a quiet _'excuse me'_ and fled the room.

_What just happened?_

A moment of quiet fell heavily upon the men, a kind of breathing silence that sneaked up on them and caught them off guard, and coughing subtly, the singer turned round on his heel and hurried after his lover, sparing his friends no further attention.

Nearly twenty minutes later and after being given directions by a rather reserved hotel porter, Dan set foot in the small concert room at the back of the sizeable building. It was a very modest hall filled with rows of uncomfortable-looking, crimson-cushioned chairs that lead towards a tiny wooden stage equipped with a well-used black piano – which his fugitive boyfriend was presently sat at, staring at the keys and bouncing his leg. Inhaling deeply, the singer slowly walked down the narrow aisle, his steady footsteps echoing softly off the high walls as he climbed onto the stage. Without looking up, Kyle quickly scooted over on the squeaking stool and the singer settled down next to him, sniffled quietly and pressed their shoulders together in silent compassion. The keyboardist raised his beringed hands to the yellowing keys where they hung in the air for a moment before he began playing a few notes, a sweet and barely audible clinking that prompted Dan to smile to himself.

“Where Is My Mind?”

“Death to the Pixies,” Kyle confirmed quietly as he allowed the surprisingly melancholy-sounding melody to float on like a thoughtful breeze that enveloped them like an uplifting cloud.

Swallowing down the uneasy feeling that tightened his throat, Dan rested his head on his partner's shoulder, laying a hand on his forearm and squeezing it gently.

“You alright?”

The younger man stopped playing and sighed loudly. “Apart from being deadly embarrassed, you mean?”

Dan glanced up at him, brow furrowed in concern and sympathy. “You don't need to be embarrassed, you know? I mean ... I know it's kinda awkward, but it's not like they don't know about us. And it isn't the worst thing they've ever walked in on, either.”

Kyle's face settled into a confused pout. “It's not?”

“Remember my thirty-first? Charlie catching us in the supply closet?”

“Oh, wow. I had totally suppressed that memory.”

The singer sat up and leaned over to kiss his lover's cheek. “That was a good birthday,” he whispered softly and looking down at his lover, Kyle smiled for the first time since the men had surprised him. Dan revelled in just how soft the man's dark hair looked in the dim light, how exciting the fathomless depth of his eyes; how kind his features were and how strong and gentle his hands. He ran his fingertips over Kyle's cheek ever so lightly and the younger man closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

“I love you, you know,” the singer whispered, and though each hushed word sounded far too harsh, too loud in the empty hall, he had never felt so serene as he did at this moment, feeling his partner's skin, listening to his even breaths, relishing his warmth – and knowing that, no matter what, he would always stand by his side.

That he would always love him, one way or another.

Kyle's eyes suddenly flew open and he stared so deeply into Dan's soul and his gaze was so unafraid that the older man unconsciously held his breath.

“Dan ...” he started, his voice hoarse and trembling perceptibly, “I'm, I-I've never ... the way I feel when I'm with you, it's-” he exhaled harshly and held Dan's hands in his own. They were unusually cold.

The singer felt his throat close up as he watched Kyle, saw how nervous he was, how timid he seemed. The air was laden with emotionality and anticipation.

“We're _it_ , you know?” His boyfriend huffed a laugh. “ _This_ is it, I mean. This relationship is the only one I intend to have for the rest of my life. If I have a say in it, that is.” Dan nodded, not trusting his voice. “And just- I'm- _fuck_ , I wrote all of this down and now I can't remember a single fucking word!”

The singer blinked. “You what?”

Kyle sighed desperately, appearing to struggle with his tortuous and confusing thoughts. “You're the best man I know, the- the best person. And I wanna wake up next to you every day, _always_. So, I guess- I mean, I think we should ... can you- will you _marry me_ already?!”

Dan could hardly breathe as he felt his chest seize up with blind emotion, a wave of feelings that crashed into him with heart-stopping force and made his hands shake as a smothering silence swallowed them.

“That was terrible,” he laughed, wiping at his face as he hugged Kyle wildly, pressing his nose into the younger man's hair and squeezing his eyes shut.

_This is real._

“Of course I will, you idiot.”

Instantly melting into the tight embrace, Kyle leaned heavily against Dan's body, snivelling loudly as he let his lover hold him, his shoulders shaking.

“This isn't how I planned it,” he uttered, his voice breathy, and the older man laughed into his hair.

“I think it was very _us_ ,” he acknowledged and leaning back, the keyboardist scanned his boyfriend's face carefully and wiped away his tears with a lopsided smile. Finally, they shared a tender kiss, a touch so dreamlike and fragile it might well have been imagined, and Dan took a deep, calming breath and rubbed Kyle's shoulders reassuringly.

_This is real._

The taller man's face suddenly cleared up like the sky after a storm, his eyes widening as he pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans.

A ring. A simple yet beautiful silver band.

“Oh,” Dan fake-gasped, “you shouldn't have!”

The keyboardist laughed, shaking his head as he turned the shiny ring around in his fingers and gazed at it thoughtfully.

“I, um, I asked them to engrave something,” he stuttered, cheeks reddening as he placed it in the singer's palm in a shy, nervous gesture. Dan inspected it thoroughly, his heart beating in his throat. He could see the filigree lettering on the inside, nothing too twirly or exaggerated. Just one word.

_Yours._

The older man bit down on his lip as Kyle scratched his neck awkwardly. “I was gonna have them engrave something like _'you're kinda cute'_ but they didn't think it was appropriate for the occasion.”

As Dan burst out laughing, he felt all the tension and anxiety and concern that had been smouldering beneath the surface for too long evaporate into thin air. Kyle smiled at him, took the ring from his hands and slowly slid it on his finger.

It fit perfectly.

_This is it._

Kyle was _it_ ; he had always been and would forever remain the perfect fit for Dan's restless soul.

After sitting in meaningful silence for a while, kissing as if they had never kissed before, whispering words of warmth and touching each other lovingly and without hesitance, the men rose from the uncomfortable stool and started walking up the aisle together, hand in hand, and Kyle's fingers brushed over the silver ring again and again. Dan smiled to himself.

“So ... rose petals, huh?”

The younger man groaned, throwing back his head. “Shut up.”

“Real subtle,” the singer continued, grinning widely.

Kyle stopped, pulled the older man back into his arms and kissed him square on the mouth, and Dan was reminded of different times, times when he had feared that every kiss was the last, each word a secret goodbye. He knew better now, knew that this was a beginning. The first page of a new chapter.

“I said _shut up_.”

“Or _what_?”

Kyle beamed. “Or I'll play that compilation of every time you've fallen over on stage at our wedding,” he teased and began walking backwards towards the heavy double doors, wiggling his eyebrows and waiting for his laughing fiancé to catch up.

“Kyle!”

And they walked over the threshold together.

“You wouldn't dare!”

_Always together._

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so in the following chapters, I will try to explore five relationship milestones (in flashbacks and from Dan's POV) in comparison with the storm of emotions that Kyle is going through after deciding to propose. The little stories will mostly just be soft, domestic moments with a lot of introspection.  
> Thank you so much for reading ♥


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